Talk given at Ann's* funeral March 13, 2013

 I must admit that I was surprised with the call and the invitation to speak today. I must also admit that I am a stranger to many of you and you somewhat to me. You see I only know you through the eyes of Ann*. I apologize for not knowing each of you personally. I consider this a sacred task today. I consider the human psychic as the holy of holies for our mortal and temporal temples. Each story I have heard over the years have all been unique yet similar, and all sacred. You see it is our story that lets us know we have been here and that our presence did matter. When we came into the world, the world was changed, when we leave this world the world will change again. There is a paradox with the passing of a loved one. Everything changes and yet nothing changes. Each soul takes up a large space in our minds and in our hearts and when that soul leaves there is a great void, and yet the sun still comes up , homes must be cleaned and cared for, children need nurturing and care, jobs go on, bills will be paid, the same worries cloud our minds, and life goes on.

I came to know my client sometime after her initial diagnosis. She shared with me that the best science of the time was giving her little hope for a cure. As all people, she was afraid, sometimes angry, sometimes depressed and always concerned about what her death would mean to her family. I believed she cared for and loved her family deeply.

As I came to know her, I found that she had some definite beliefs and attitudes about life and about the challenges she faced with her diagnosis. She was determined to live even though I believe in her heart she knew that her stay here would not be long. I found her to be realistically courageous as she faced her mortality.

In the course of working with individuals and families as they face the end of life, I encourage them to work on healing their relationships; that is, finding peace in all relationships. While that is sometimes difficult and takes time and perspective, it is always possible. Curing is not always possible.  

As people go through this process they often receive lots of care and attention, but the family and the caretakers are often neglected.

Sometimes the role of caretaker is more difficult than the disease itself.  Oftentimes a great number of emotions surface – all of which are normal, ie: loss of hope, regret, feelings of helplessness, vulnerability, frustration, sometimes guilt and shame. Oftentimes caretakers are caught in a double bind – they do not want the loved one to suffer, and they do not want to lose the loved one, yet they know that death will end the mortal suffering.

As humans we are complex, we often feel conflicting emotions – I encourage you to allow yourself to feel, to be vulnerable, thereby allowing yourself to love and be loved completely.

While vulnerability may feel like weakness and no one I know likes to feel weak – vulnerability is what allows us to love – the truth is, we are all vulnerable and we all are in need of the healing power of love – love is that healing process that can never be taken away from us if we nurture and care for it.

We as human beings have a tendency to attach our identity to things that are impermanent, job, property, things and even bodies; all these things can and will be taken from us.  Our values, our integrity, our love can never be taken away – we can give them up, but they can’t be taken away.

Some thirty nine years ago I was in the delivery room in the hospital in Logan, Utah. I was standing helplessly watching my wife truly enter into the valley of death as she was giving birth to our first son. After a long twenty four hour labor process, our son was born. But he was not breathing, he was pale blue color and I could see the concern on the faces of the doctor and the nurses attending my wife and my son. The doctor worked on the baby for what seemed like a long time attempting to start the life process. After a few actual moments, the baby took a deep breath and started crying, his little body becoming animated with life. After cleaning him off, the doctor handed him to me. In that transcendent moment I felt the most over-powering love and gratitude to my wife and for my son and for life, and at the same time the awesome responsibility for this most precious gift of life that had come into my world.

Some five years ago I stood by the bedside of my mother. There were loved ones surrounding her, my father was holding tightly to her hand, not wanting her to leave. At last he gave her permission to leave. He let go of her hand and she let go of her last breath in mortality and her mortal body became still. A peaceful countenance settled over her physical body and I felt the joy that comes from seeing a loved one released from pain and suffering, finally to be at peace. At the same time there was a grief in our minds and in our hearts, particularly for my father as he was to move on without her. I have no doubt that there were loved ones there to greet my mother. As she passed through the veil, as she took her last step in mortality and her first step into immortality.

In both of these experiences, the arriving of life and the leaving of life have had profound impact on me and how I view the great cycle of life. As Robert Augustus Masters says, “Death makes life worth living. Death makes beauty unspeakably obvious. Death makes love unsurpassably important. Death wakes us up. What better ally could we have than Death? Death gives all the same opportunity. Death leaves no one out.” (Integral Post, Such Raw Beauty by Robert Augustus Masters)

The following poem from Bernie Sieger, MD., is by one of his patients

Nine months seems like a long time

I watch my body change

Tired I sit staring out at life

Books and music transport me beyond my body

Nine months finally pass

I give birth to my child

All the discomfort and pain is now justified

Chemotherapy and radiation

Twelve months seems like a long time

I watch my body change

Tired I sit staring out at life

Books and music transport me beyond my body

Twelve months finally pass

I give birth to myself

All the discomfort and pain is now justified

I have often heard the phrase that someone has “lost their battle with cancer”. When I hear such statements it saddens me because I think they do not understand the true nature of life. We can lose the battle to cancer only if death is failure. If I believe death is failure then mortality must be failure as well, and we all must fail because we are all mortal. Mortality is terminal. So what is cancer? The following is what I have learned by working with many people and their families who have had the cancer diagnosis.  

Cancer need not be a battle, it is an opportunity; an opportunity to live and love fully and completely. It has taught me that the things of life that are important range much further than the limitations of the physical body. It has taught me that love is really the only healing power in the universe and that healing transcends curing. Cancer cannot destroy that healing power. It has taught me that beyond hope lies peace knowing that I loved and received love without conditions.

I have come to realize that beyond the dualistic nature of this physical world lays a dimension where every experience is perfect, where every experience teaches us about the possibilities of what our true nature is.

We learn that we are more than the physical elements making up our bodies, that can be damaged and harmed by the forces of nature, and that we must honor and cooperate with those forces. We learn that we are spirit and that spirit animates the elements that surround it. We realize that beyond spirit lies intelligence, made of light and truth. In reality we are made up of the very essence of God stuff. Cancer is the gift that allows us to truly know and experience this God stuff of hope, of love, of compassion, of empathy, of pain, of purpose, and of connection to all things. It is creating the possibility of relationships where there are no images, no pretense, and only true connections with other mortal beings who suffer pain and disappointment along this journey of mortality.

It has given me a sense of purpose greater than my individual experience. It has allowed me to share my life experience with others and that by sharing, we all grow.

No, we don’t lose the battle with cancer. We are wounded but we come to understand that God allows no wound without a gift that is commensurate with that wound. We come to understand that life is what it is, and that we can chose the way of light that leads to pure joy or chose the way of despair. There is no battle, only opportunity. Opportunity to be fully human, to love fully and completely and to receive love fully and completely, and finally to come to understand what it means, “I AM LOVE”.

The Measure, by K. W. Brewer, July 27, 2005

I measure my life in friends and I am humbled by the numbers, the quality, the style, path, policy and grace.

I measure my life in days when friends write, and when we converse as they sit by my bed, read poems and listen.

I measure my life in family who speak through tears, who serve me meals on a wicker tray, who pray and love and float.

I measure my life in pine siskins who entertain me in feeders outside my window, and Gus the Schnauzer who curls next to me in bed.

I measure my life in friends who do not know my sins, who hug my shrunken body, who break open my heart with words.

I measure in life in cancer that has taught me how to measure my life.

Today and in the future as you mourn and grieve the loss of wife, mother, sister, friend fellow journeyers – reflect on the gifts her life story gave you, speak of her, remember the lessons learned, allow yourself the sadness that comes from such loss, remember the Christ in the Garden, "not my will but thine"– surrender and the angels will attend thee.

Thank you for allowing me to share this sacred moment with you.

•Ann's name has been changed to protect the confidentiality of her and her loved ones